Page 81 of These Old Lies

Ned collapsed into one of the chairs with more grace than a six-foot-tall man should really have, head in his hands.

Charlie was frozen in the middle of the room. How had he fucked up so spectacularly?

“I think I have regrets,” Charlie spoke the words as they came to him, one at a time.

Ned lifted his face from his hands. “I understand, of course. But really, you shouldn’t feel any shame for what is long in the past. Young men have desires, we were lonely, trying to sort out what the war did to us.”

No, no, this was all wrong.

“I’m not talking about us, what we shared. I don’t regret that. Ever.” Charlie let the full weight of his conviction show. “I regret that we had to make the choices that we did. That it was your career or me, that it was a family or you. I wish… we could have found a way to have everything.”

Distantly, he noted that the music from the Grand Place had finished.

“Regret is the reward for getting older,” Ned said softly.

“Some reward.”

“You acknowledge it.” Ned took a deep breath. “And you let it go.”

Hadn’t that been what Charlie had been doing? A bitterness filled Charlie’s chest. Bitter that there was a piece of himself, an important piece, that no one ever got to see. He hadn’t felt this after their walk in London in 24, but maybe tonight he had a better sense of what he had lost.

Charlie had to get out of this room. He had to find a way to put back on his mask, become Charles Villiers, the upright citizen, again. Had to put all this madness back into the lockbox in the back of his mind.

He grabbed his coat and walked towards the door. “I’ll see you at the memorial unveiling tomorrow,” he called over his shoulder, not brave enough to look back at Ned.

Once the door closed behind him, Charlie couldn’t wait for the lift and darted down the five flights of stairs. He was breathless by the time he reached the marble lobby. He sprinted out the door and kept running, running, down Arras’ streets and alleys until he could no longer breathe.

He slowed to a walk, his breath punching out of his lungs in gasps. His face, hair, and shirt were all soaked with rain, which somehow he hadn’t noticed until now. Charlie let the cold French night seep into his jacket, into his skin and muscles, fingering his wedding ring as he walked.

28 Christmas Under Fire

London, December 1941 / Ned

“If you rip anything, Villiers, you’re the one that’s going to have to explain it to my tailors.” Ned grunted into Charlie’s chest.

Charlie’s response was too mumbled to hear, but his hand did slow in its attempt to free Ned’s cock from his trousers. Ned bit his lip to cover a moan. It didn’t matter how old he was, there would never be a good time to be caught with a lover in a guest bedroom of his parents’ country house.

Ned was already being reckless by inviting Charlie to join him for the weekend. Betty was taking the children to visit her sister in Kent, and Ned couldn’t very well leave Charlie to sit in the flat alone…

Charlie’s attention moved upwards, giving Ned shivers as he kissed his way around Ned’s chest. “Where’s the Vaseline?”

Oh. It was going to be likethattonight? Not that Ned objected. Quite the contrary.

Ned rolled on top of Charlie as a way of reaching around to the small bag on the side table. He smiled down at his lover, and ground his hips down, chasing that familiar delight at feeling of his need against Charlie’s.

Except Charlie was soft.

Ned froze, his mind unable to connect what he was feeling with how Charlie had been behaving.

“Fuck.” Charlie slammed his head against the pillow. Ned should say something, put Charlie at ease, except now it had been too long, and now Charlie was going to think that Ned cared, which he didn’t, except for all the reasons that he did…

Ned slid off Charlie and rolled onto his back.

“Happens to the best of us,” he muttered while staring up at the plaster whorls in the ceiling. That was what he came up with? Layering gaucheness on top of mortification.

No wonder Charlie moved to sit up and started rooting around in the sheets for his shirt. Ned also wished he could get away from himself. “I guess I should go back to my own room.”

Had they been in their own bed, in the flat, Ned would have held Charlie, stroking his hair until Charlie fell asleep or shared the worries in his mind. Tonight, illusions needed to be maintained. So instead of all the things Ned wanted to offer, he forced a weak smile. “Need to rest up before dinner with the Tautons tomorrow.”